


Sam Has His Own Room

by GlassRoom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Porn Without Plot, Smut, just porn, onesome, privacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5924875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassRoom/pseuds/GlassRoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is thrilled at having his own room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam Has His Own Room

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? It's porn. Smutty, porny, porn.

Sam loved the bunker. Not at first, at first it was just another place to work, another place to crash. It was when Dean mentioned how good it was to have his own room that Sam started to really love the bunker.

He had never really considered it before. All those years of living in cramped, close quarters with his dad and brother, then the dorms at Stanford, then just him and his brother. Privacy was something to be sacrificed for a greater good. But now...now he had his own room.

No more rubbing out a quick one in the shower with his brother pounding on the door to hurry up. No more waiting until his dad passed out from whiskey and his brother preoccupied with examining the car engine. No more sharing a bed with his brother in some shitty motel with their dad, trying not to move as he stained a threadbare towel he'd hidden under his pillow earlier. No, he had his own room now.

So now he liked to draw things out. Over the course of the day he let his thoughts wander to his favourite fantasy. Turn it over in his mind, repeating the best scenes over and over. He would let things get far enough to get a chubby and then stop...only to start again a little while later. As the desire escalated he pretended to do research on his laptop, opening his special file of images. Occasionally his hand found its way to his lap so he could press against his growing erection...then close the file and remove his hand. It was when the tension became too distracting that he would announce he's going to bed, with a yawn. 

Then he would go to his bedroom. His own room. With a soft snick the door would latch closed, creating a pocket of privacy. There he allowed the desire to course through his body. He would get hard as a rock while he leaned on the door, knowing he won't be disturbed.

The first thing he'd do is remove the over shirt, letting it fall to the floor beside him, lifting away from the door only when absolutely necessary. His nipples hardened, grazing the undershirt. Once the shirt was on the floor he slowly ran his hands over the thin fabric covering his torso. Working out regularly created firm, tight muscles that he liked. He let his hands graze across his abs, up to his pecs, teasing his nipples with his thumb. 

Now that his breathing was increasing he worked open the button on his jeans, then the zipper, taking care not to touch the bulge underneath. Sliding his hands under the waistband and around his hips he took a moment to admire the softness of the underwear covering the hardness of his muscles. Then his hips push off the door, leaving only his head and shoulders anchoring him. With his hands travelling over his buttocks he lowered his jeans, moving in a way to minimize contact with his aching boner. As gracefully as he could, he shimmied out of his jeans, toeing his socks off in the process.

Gasping slightly at the air caressing his naked limbs, his hands found their way up his thighs and over his hips. Stopping to finger the hem of his undershirt he tried to calm his breathing so he could draw out the experience. When he felt he had a hold of himself, his hands scraped a slow ascent from the waistband of his underwear up his abs, pulling the shirt along with him. Reaching his pecs he would allow one single drag of his thumb over his hardened nubs before pulling the shirt completely off.

Again he paused, breathing becoming laboured, back pressed fully against the door. With as much self control as he could muster his hands travelled to the waistband of his underwear. He let his hands press the fabric against his hips while lifting them away from the door. Slipping them around he could feel his firm ass through the cloth. In a moment of weakness he ran his hands back around to the front, framing his fully erect member. Panting now he pressed down, letting the underwear add pressure to his cock and balls. When it became too difficult to hold back, he repeated the motions he made with his jeans. Palms slipped under the waistband, around his hips, resting on his bare ass for a beat. Gently caressing himself he let one finger explore the crease between his cheeks. When the friction of the erection pressing on the front of his briefs started to build too high, he lowered his underwear over his butt, brought his hands back around to the front, lifted the underwear away from his hardness, and dropped them so they puddled at his ankles. 

Stepping out of them he was now fully naked. For just a moment he let only the air caress his overly sensitive skin. Mouth open, head tilted to the side, eyes half closed, breathing rapid, he brought his hands to the tops of his thighs. His cock twitched at the tease of contact being so close. He let the wave of need crash over him as he pressed back into the door. When the wave subsided somewhat, he pushed off and slowly went to the single chair near his bed. Walking creating a new swirl of air caressing his skin as his manhood bounced slightly.

Arriving at the chair he covered the seat with a clean towel before retrieving the lube and setting it on the nightstand. The sight of the lube created a tsunami of desire that threatened to end the session. Instead of giving in he held the back of the chair and forced himself to calm down. Once he was certain he'd staved off his finish, he sat on the very edge of the chair and leaned back, planting his feet firmly on the floor.

Only now did he look down at himself. Belly rising and falling rapidly, nipples erect, long legs tense, hard thick cock standing at attention. He took the time to watch as his hands ran up his thighs, long fingers shaking slightly at the desperate need to circle his member. Bringing his hands to his pelvis he spread his knees out, bucking slightly as he denied himself contact with his cock. Knowing the end was imminent, he planted one foot on his bed as he reached for the lube. 

He poured some onto his palm and rubbed his hands together to warm it up. Then, and only then, did he place his hands on the crease where his pelvis met his legs with the intention of stroking. Very slowly he glided his hands towards each other, one hand slipping to cup his balls, the other to finally touch his throbbing cock. A groan escaped him as one slick hand coursed up and down, twisting, gripping, trailing, sliding the shaft while his other hand worked his balls. He felt the familiar tightening in his lower belly so he skated his hands away, caressing his lower belly.

Once calmed down a bit, he plunged one wet hand back to his cock while the other slithered past his balls to his tight entrance. Shaking slightly he fingered the rim while stroking himself. Without knowing it, he'd lifted himself up off the chair slightly while he worked one finger inside him. Finally, he let his other hand glide around the head of his cock, mixing the precome with the lube. 

He began a rocking motion, stroking his hardness with a twist at the tip while fingering himself. Under his hand he felt his cock harden more, his balls pulled up close to the base. The orgasm tore through him, ripping him away from everything except the sensation of hot, wet hands stroking his most sensitive nerves. Rope after rope streaked across his sweaty chest. His hand sticky with come he kept stroking. Gliding his hand gently around his pulsing erection he slipped his finger out to massage his lower belly. Coaxing every last drop out of himself he slowly released the tension in his muscles. When the quaking diminished and his breathing slowed he lessened his movements. Cradling his tender member he simply sat bathed in the afterglow for a few minutes before making any move to clean up. There was no rush, no wondering how long he had, no panic at someone coming in. He had his own room.


End file.
